Chapter 7 #3
“Good evening,” the bartender said, cutting through our private moment. “And what may I have the pleasure of serving you two on this fine summer evening?” He asked in a lilting, sing-song way that forced a smile to my face. The man’s voice was like soft butter spread on warm brown bread.
He definitely sings, I thought.
“Water,” I said quickly. Years of listening to Jules had taught me the unwritten rules of this place. Girls who drank before dancing became liabilities; clumsy, unfocused, vulnerable. I needed every sense to be razor-sharp. That was usually the first test.
The bartender smiled, genuine warmth lighting his features. His dark braids swung with tiny bells that sang soft music with each movement. His chest gleamed, naked under the dim lights, and I saw circular barbell rings piercing his nipples, catching the light like twinkling stars.
I thought about my own nipple piercings.
I still felt like a newborn fawn struggling to take its first steps anytime I had to dress or undress.
Unable to help myself, my mouth spoke before my brain stopped it.
“Aren’t you ever afraid of catching those?
” I asked as I gestured to his pierced nipples.
I immediately flushed, realizing how personal the question was.
Screw being coy. These bad boys on me are an accident waiting to happen.
He chuckled softly, the sound like velvet against raw nerves, unwinding the tightness inside my chest. “You mean how do you not catch them on things?”
I nodded. “I just got mine, and it’s been. . . an adjustment,” I confided. Behind me, I heard Rowan curse, and from my peripheral vision, I saw he had his head tipped back. His eyes were pinched as if in pain.
He’s going to have to get comfortable real soon if I’m going to be dancing nude in front of him. The thought sent butterflies of nerves throughout me.
“A little pain is fine with me,” the bartender admitted, his melodic voice now as rich as bourbon.
A playful spark lit his eyes, transforming his face from beautiful to dangerous.
“Though I sometimes tie my hair up, to keep the bells from ringing.” He flicked one of the silver bells in his hair, the tiny sound punctuating his words.
“I’m Andy. I’ll grab your water. And for you, sir? ”
“Kompot,” Rowan said without hesitation.
The word hit me like a jolt, and I snapped my head to him. What the hell had he ordered?
“Ah, a man of culture,” Andy chuckled as if Rowan had told him a particularly funny joke. His knowing smile lingered as he turned and disappeared into the press of bartenders and busboys behind the bar.
My eyes shot to Rowan. “What in the world is a Kompot?” The word scraped against my ears.
Rowan’s laugh caught me off guard; a deep, rich sound I’d only ever heard from him once or twice when he was with Charlie. It was like finding warmth in winter and made my toes involuntarily curl.
He pulled his bar stool closer, sinking into it with that relaxed predatory ease he possessed that prickled my skin. “Kompot. It is a drink made from cooked fruits and berries,” he said playfully. “You should try it. It is popular with children, so you would enjoy it.”
I rolled my eyes. Screw him and his little jabs. “I can’t drink alcohol before I dance.” I kept my voice flat, practical. Survival mode. Focus on the job, not the man watching me with those frozen lake eyes.
“It is not alcoholic. But nevermind,” he said as he shook his head. “You bring me to my first question. . .” His voice dropped to an intimate register, each word a stone dropping into still water.
I got the impression I was not going to like the conversation as his eyes pierced me, stripping away my carefully haphazard mix of armor.
“What are you doing here, princess? Do you realize Levi would burn this place to the fucking ground if he knew you were here?”
I parted my lips to answer, but the words stuck in my throat. I almost slipped and said, “I’m here to hunt the man who killed me,” but I knew the absurdity of how that would sound. What could I have said that he would believe?
“Nothing,” Edward’s twisted voice snaked through my thoughts. “This man will never understand you, Violet. You aren’t special. You are nothing.”
My fingers curled against the bar top’s edge, nails biting into wood, trying to focus on the moment.
It was solid. Real. I was grateful when the performance ended, and the club’s darkness swallowed me whole; the seductive bass pounding like a second heartbeat, before lights flashed and bodies began writhing once more in shadows around us.
“I. . .” I stumbled. Rowan watched me with those winter-pale eyes, and within that gaze lived worry tangled with something else I couldn’t place.
I sucked in air, let it fuel the steel in my voice. “I’m here to dance,” I said finally. “To earn some money. Nothing more, nothing less.” Part lie, part truth. Daddy had denied me money.
“Money?” He said incredulously, as if I had told him Santa was real. I nodded a little too hard, feeling like my jaw would dislocate.
Please buy it, Rowan. Please.
“Daddy wouldn’t let me access my trust and I. . .” I couldn’t finish. “Money, Rowan. That’s all.”
He leaned back, that almost-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing more?”
“Nothing more.” The lie felt acidic on my tongue.
The music swelled from the stage, filling me with a desperation to get up there and take ownership of myself. I needed to banish the ghosts from my past. My stomach knotted. This had been my world once. In another life. In another body.
When I finally get to dance, I thought, it will be a declaration that my body belongs to me. Only me.
Rowan shifted closer, becoming a barrier between me and the rest of the club, as if he were trying to remind me where my focus should lie. On him. . .
I said, “You’d better leave unless you want to see me naked.”
Rowan scoffed. “The shame of nudity is self-imposed. You are like a sister to me, Violet. I do not care if you are nude or not.” He nodded towards the stage. “Besides, I respect all women and do not judge their careers. I would not treat you any differently.”
He spoke as if nothing else would factor into his outlook. Against my better judgement, I found it oddly endearing.
The bartender took that moment to slide our drinks across the bar. I wrapped my fingers around the cool glass and brought it to my lips. The water slid down my throat, soothing the burn there, steadying the tremble in my hands.
“Well, that’s unexpectedly mature of you.” I cleared my throat.
He shrugged as he sipped his drink. “It is not hard to be a decent human being.”
I closed my eyes as flashbacks of my other life brushed behind my lids. The overwhelming absence of decent human beings in that life forced a sardonic laugh from me. “It’s hard for most people.” The words were so heavy on my lips.
Rowan’s eyes narrowed as he studied me. He reached over, his hand finding mine and squeezed it. “Violet. . .” He paused. “I am only going to ask this because your heart—” He stopped then tried again. “You do not seem yourself. Did someone hurt you? Are you in trouble?”
Despite the deafening pounding of the music, I heard every word he said as my heart clenched.
No, not here. Not now. I can’t tell him. I can’t tell anyone.
Tears pricked my eyes as I placed my drink down.
“No, Rowan. No one hurt me.” The lie stung so much I could barely contain the fresh tears that wanted to spill.
I felt oddly vulnerable sitting in the city’s most prestigious gentlemen’s club, knowing I would not be able to escape the path I had taken, surrounded by the very place that tried to break me.
The red string of fate would never let me go.
Rowan took that moment to pull me to him, head resting on top of my head, and I didn’t have the strength to fight him. “You can lie all you want with that mouth of yours, but your body betrays you.”
My breath caught, and it took every effort to not break.
No, I will not waiver. I pulled away, watching his hands fall to his sides, and shook my head. “I’m not lying, Rowan. Even if I was, it would be for the greater good.”
“For the greater good? How noble of you. Are you a superhero now?” He clicked his tongue, but didn’t push me any further.
A flash of movement caught my eye, breaking whatever intimate moment there was between us.
Jules rounded the corner, her face glowing under the club’s lighting.
Platinum hair cascaded past her barely covered breasts, held by nothing but wisps of fabric.
She commanded the space without trying, her entire being a living fantasy.
Men stared. Women measured themselves against her.
The unattainable standard of beauty packaged in five-foot-five inches of curves and confidence.
“Hi there, sweetie! I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, piercing blue eyes flicking to me with a mix of curiosity and apology. She stepped forward, offering the briefest hug, perfunctory yet warm. “I’m so sorry, but. . . I don’t seem to know your name?”
“Alexis,” I replied, voice steady despite my pulse. A small flush warmed my cheeks. “I overheard a girl complaining you needed more bodies here, and your name was dropped.”
“Oh! Do you happen to know the girl’s name?” she inquired gently.
I shrugged. “No, sorry. . . I hope that’s okay?”
Her eyes lit up, bright and genuine. “Oh, that’s alright!
We just weren’t expecting any girls this week, but as it happens, I can squeeze in an audition now.
” She pivoted to Andy, speaking with authority.
“Let the sound guy know to play one of our entry songs in the next fifteen minutes.” She turned back to me.
“I’m the one who typically handles the girls, so you can direct any questions to me.
” Her voice carried a confidence that shrank the room, marking her territory without effort.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ugh,” Jules groaned. “Do not call me ma’am. I’m not that old, sweetie. Now, tell me a little about yourself.”
My gut twisted as she stared, her eyes dissecting me. Images from my previous life flashed by: Jules placing her hands over my own and guiding me on a pole, her voice gentle but firm as she showed me how to move. “Arch your back more. Feel the music. Like that, yes!”
The first hurdle was a fitness test. Was I even in good enough shape to be on the stage?
I cleared my throat. “I have trained in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, archery, and equestrianism from a very young age, so. . . I’m in good shape.”
Jules nodded. “Well, the horsemanship will help those legs of yours. I’m not sure about the rest, especially since you didn’t mention any dancing.”
She stepped around me, eyeing my body. I tried not to fidget with my dress and almost missed Rowan’s hand as it brushed against mine, barely there.
The whisper of contact anchored me as his fingers slowly grazed mine in a tantalizing spell that made my breath catch.
I looked up, flushed, and caught his eyes watching me.
My body was on fire, and it wasn’t from the club lights.
Jules’s voice broke the spell as I yanked my hand away. “Your friend will need to wait here, sweetie. Is that alright?” She glanced between us, curiosity sparkling beneath her long lashes.
“Of course.” I cut my eyes to Rowan, noting the hard tick in his jaw, the tension coiling in his shoulders. “My friend can wait, right?”
Please say yes, Rowan. I need this. I looked at him with pleading eyes. . .
Which must have gotten through to him, because he replied with a grumbly, “Da.”
Jules looked at me, confused, and I clarified. “He means yes. Sorry. He’s an idiot who forgets to speak English sometimes.”
Jules laughed and clapped her hands together. “Follow me this way, please.”
She guided me deeper into the club, her gaze crawling over me like a physical touch. Every instinct in my body screamed caution as she cataloged my walk.
Jules asked, “Did you bring an outfit in your bag, or will you need to borrow one from our wardrobe?”
The next hurdle was a competence test. Was I a professional here to audition for a job, or just a dumb college kid looking to make a quick buck by shaking her ass?
“I brought my own outfit.”
“Alrighty, so professional! I love it, sweetie. Now, let’s get you dressed for success.”
She led me to the changing rooms, which were covered in glitter and smelled of expensive perfume. The other dancers, all lovely ranges of body types, were busying themselves with their own wardrobes. None of them even looked at me.
I felt Jules’s gaze, however, as I stripped out of my street clothes and shimmied into the silver mesh of my barely there outfit. Part of me knew that I should have hated the invasiveness. . . but I didn’t. If anything, it offered me an odd comfort. A ghost of familiarity.
“You think you have skill on the pole, sweetie?” Jules asked, her tone as warm as homemade cookies.
I straightened my spine, letting a whisper of confidence slide through the cracks in my facade. “I do. I’ve. . . danced before. Very well, I’ve been told.” Told by you once, in another life.
Jules’s smile grew even larger. “I love to hear that note of confidence in you!” She offered me her hand and led me to the side of the stage behind heavy curtains.
“A tiny bit of advice? Don’t look at the patrons.
Just watch the lights and let the music move you.
First time’s the hardest.” She patted my back in a motherly gesture that brought almost tears to my eyes.
“Let’s see what you bring to Oubliette,” Jules said, oblivious to my nostalgia.
I inhaled sharply, pulling in the scent of leather, metal, and sweat. I stepped forward, brushing heavy velvet curtains into the darkness of the stage, there within the dark heart of the club.
Here’s to reclaiming myself, I thought, and the lights turned on.